


Comfy Ass Bed

by Cahoots



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Incest, M/M, Sibling Incest, Stridercest - Freeform, Twins, cw abuse, oh gosh im really new to this please be gentle, tagging is hard, twin striders!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-22
Updated: 2012-11-22
Packaged: 2017-11-19 06:03:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/569998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cahoots/pseuds/Cahoots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>suddenly an alternate universe appears wherein dirk and dave are twins and their dad (in a bit of an understatement) is a fat douche and the twins gotta stick together and i dont know this is just fluff??? i guess??? stridercest is great.<br/>they kiss yo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comfy Ass Bed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [oobiemcruby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oobiemcruby/gifts).



> please to enjoy

You hear the crash from your refuge in the bathroom where you’re slouched next to the door, and it causes you to jump and bang your skull against the wall. Your textbook careens off your knees.

"Fuck," you curse, cradling your head in your hands.

You'd heard the shouts earlier but had chosen to ignore them, let them slide, and had relocated to the quietest room in the house instead. They'd become a given, a natural occurrence between the hours of 8 and 11, when your dad would have sloshed enough beers to fill a fish tank, though it wouldn't take many before he'd reduced himself to a repulsive, swearing, sweaty mess, bulging red cheeks ablaze.

You know you and your brother could take him. It wouldn't even require the two of you, just one, he was so clumsy and blinded by alcoholic rage. Dave and you had plenty of practice, being out in the streets at late hours, running into gangs and loners was common. You both fought together well and often practiced against each other, quiet and fast and strong, and you were so proud of your twin, though he was a little slower on his feet than you.

But you couldn't do a thing because sure, he was your guardian, but mainly because your mother was there, always in the corner, with big sad eyes, unsure, stock still. You almost hate her. Once upon a time, she'd tried to get her shit together, applying for jobs, putting actual effort into her appearance, hair pulled back. You were proud of her, even when the douchebag had caught whiff of it one night and she'd promised him not to try again, because she snuck out again the next day - you'd heard the click of the door at 3 in the morning and watched her scuffle down the road to the bus stop from your bedroom window. But again he'd found out, he'd found her. And she'd given up. Given up trying. She is a belittled, scared, impassive stone, a shell devoid of anything you remembered of her from when you were younger. And yet she stays.

You hate them both.

Tonight the dad is shitting on about god knows what. It had started with complaints about his work, but you'd tuned out successfully.

Now you've tuned back in and there was...sobbing? Maybe? And you can't hear Dave, realising that he had been shouting for a while too, but now it is silent, silent enough to hear your mother's hushed sobs. Finally, predictably, your father breaks the silence, back for an encore.

_"This is the fucking codswallop shit I have to put up with-"_

The bathroom door creaks open and you look up to see your brother walk in, straight for the mirror.

Now you know what the crash was.

He doesn't notice you, so you watch him silently as his fingers trace gingerly over his nose in the reflection. A small gash is blooming just under his eye, red dripping down his cheek. His nose is bleeding too, blood stained on his chin, and you watch him grimace at himself in the mirror before he turns on the tap. With one eye closed he splashes the water over the bloody parts, wincing when it cleans the gash, sucking a sharp breath through his teeth.

You watch him silently because you don't know what to do. You were both used to scuffles, had cleaned each other up after strifes, but this had never happened before. The father figure only ever lashed out with abusive words and the occasional foreign object pegged across the room. He never hit. You'd never thought he could.

Dave glances up at the mirror again and almost jumps when he sees you.

"Oh, hey."

You lock eyes.

"Hey."

He says nothing for a while, just leaning against the sink, and you gaze at each other as snippets of _"motherfuck"_ and _"bitch"_ and other delightfully tantalising expressions reach your ears.

 _"-raising a fucking_ pan _sy-"_

You don't like the way Dave winces at the word. You don't like the bruise he's starting to sport under his eye either. This is probably the deepest you've ever frowned.

He sighs, a silent rush of breath, and moves to slide down the wall to sit beside you. You reach out a hand to assess the extent of the damage on his cheek and he lets you, biting his lip. Your fingers ghost over the cut.

"Bandaid?" you ask.

"Nah." He closes his eyes. You sigh and lean over and rest your head on his shoulder.

"Can I stay in your room tonight," he murmurs.

You look up at him. He wipes his nose.

"It's louder next to mine." It is. "Plus, your bed's crazy ass comfy. What shit do you even put in there? I swear it's filled with every single stuffed toy you own."

You snort but nod. Of course he can stay with you. Duh.

You don't really want him to be alone tonight either.

There's a final shout in the hall, a slamming of a door, and silence again. The dad's left for the night. 

You sigh as you stand up, dragging your textbook with you.

"I'm going to make a start on that comfy ass bed," you say, and you offer out a hand to help Dave up.

He smiles and takes it, and you both relocate to your bedroom.

 

…

 

"You didn't hear, did you."

You look up from your computer and he's pulling off his shirt, bare back facing you. His skin is different to yours, paler but smoother, and you envy his apparent talent in fast healing. Every nick you've received in spars over the years has been marked by some remnant of a scar, especially that one on your arm, when Dave had swung the sword a little too close to your shoulder. He'd apologised profusely but you'd gotten him back anyway, nicking him in the side. By the time yours had started looking acceptable enough, his had already been healed over with flawless skin. Jealousy prevails.

"The recent aggravation topic? You know I don't keep too close tabs on the father drama shit." You both usually just sleep in your boxers, so he's wriggling out of his jeans. You hear him sigh like the ridiculous actress he is. So ridiculous.

"Yeah, no shit." He replies, saying nothing more. You're worried because he's the endless fountain of words, and the fact of the recent event doesn't help either. You feel horrible too, because as well as worrying away, you're also watching him, observing his body and the way he's moving, sitting on the bed and pulling his jeans off his feet, in a completely separate train of thought. In a way this worries you more.

You bite your lip and drag your gaze away, back to the computer screen, to face the bright greens and yellows of your website. You have a business of sorts on there, and you had to check up on a few things, record the view count and recent comments. Some dude named _pheonixHead_33_ wanted a new order, and you were currently evaluating the logistics of shipping a puppet to Antarctica. You don't judge.

You feel his heat behind you and his breath tickle your neck before the weight of his chin on your shoulder. Your skin prickles.

"You still running that site?" he asks.

You shrug and his head bounces.

"For as long as I can."

"Why?"

You rub your thumb and forefinger together. He hums in assent and you feel it through your shoulder bone, a vibration past your skin. Out of the corner of your eye, as you click away on the screen, you can see his profile, his pale hair and lashes that are absurdly long. Your brother is pretty beautiful. He stays there for a while. You wonder when he's going to move.

"So...you didn't hear anything at all," he says, a subtle segue back to subject.

"Nope."

"Not even a little bit?"

You sigh.

"I'm assuming you're going to tell me anyway, dude."

He's silent again. You guess you're going to need your full attention on this one.

You close out of the browser and shut down the computer, and when the screen goes blank he stands and goes and flops into bed. You sit on the edge and kick off your jeans, your shirt already on the floor.

"You seriously heard nothing."

You turn around and he's on his back, staring at the blank ceiling, one leg outside the covers.

"I heard nothing, Dave."

"Nothing at all?"

You roll your eyes.

"Nothing was heard, Dave. I heard nothing, Dave. Dave, I heard fuck all."

"Okay, okay, jesus."

You are grinning like a child at christmas.

"So the fact that I'm a "faggot" didn't happen to breach your ears at any point," he says, putting in air-quotes for good measure. Your grin falters.

"Huh?"

He rolls over to face you, curling up. You're sure to keep his gaze.

"I kinda...fell...outta the closet today." His voice is small, and it's a failed attempt at lightheartedness, and you're not sure what to make of it. But you think he's really stupid for pulling such a major stunt.

"Why the fuck did you...you're an idiot."

He gives a weak smile and suddenly you realise he's sincere because this is his sincere face, it's serious. Oh.

Your heart does a thing. You tell it to stop.

"I just, felt I should tell him. Him and mum."

You look away from him, down at your hands. You're being distracted and your eyes are giving it away.

"Because they're still my parents and...you know. Approval shit."

"And no such luck?" You force yourself to look back up. He's rolled over again and gone back to ceiling-gazing.

"Yeah."

You watch him silently for a while as you reflect. Well, that news just boosted up your hopes some 80 percent. Jesus, you're like a schoolgirl. You mentally kick yourself. No matter what, he's still your brother and you are still a horrible person, with horrible feelings that are terribly _wrong_.

You switch off the lamp and crawl up beside him, the covers rustling beneath your weight. You put an arm around his waist and he shifts to face you, both ending up nose to nose, breathing. You can't tell if his eyes are open or not in this darkness.

You like being this close. You like how this is a thing you can do.

"Dirk."

"Yeah."

"You seriously aren't gonna say anything about it?"

You pause. You can feel him watching you. Or maybe it's just you being on edge. You want him to stop asking you things, you're scared you're going to slip.

"I don't see why it should matter to me. I'm not exactly involved in that...thing."

You don't understand why he's pushing, making such a big deal out of it. Sure, the celebratory rave party going down behind your impassive facade makes it pretty obvious that you do give a damn, but it shouldn't mean that he would. You can read him well, but right now you don't trust yourself to, afraid of imposing your own ideas onto his every action, like the hand that's snaking up your waist, or the nose that is starting to come a little bit too close. You've got to stop it, your imagination is running too rampant, jesus christ, get a grip.

His lips are against yours before you realise that your imagination is right, and there are indeed his lips moving against yours, drawing in your bottom lip, his tongue swiping across it. You freeze up. You stop breathing.

He pulls away quickly at your tensing up. You think he misinterpreted your shock.

He tries to turn away, to escape, but you hold him there, with your arm around his waist, keeping him close to you. You couldn't bear it if he left now.

You can practically hear him bite his lip.

"Uh. I. I'm sorry-"

"How long?" you breathe. Despite being caught off guard you are still a deviant and desperately curious. How did this even happen? How is it possible that it was _both of you together all along?_

"Fuck, Dirk, you can't just ask that and expect a straight answer with a minimal amount of precise digits, I can't even _count_ this shit let alone measure it out, I can't even _math,_ dude-"

You lean in and kiss him and he shuts up. You kiss him hard and he kisses back, and this time the kiss is desperate, needy, both patrons participating, a shoving of lips against each other as your hand fists in his hair and his palm and fingers press into your back, pulling you both even closer. Your legs tangle, and you let him fill you up, his warmth, his scent, and you don't have to ignore it now, it's no longer pushed forcefully into the back of your mind to linger, but brought right forward as you focus completely on everything _Dave_.

You feel him smile against your lips, and when you pull back, you're grinning too.  
"Huh," he pants, and you snort. Then you chuckle.

**Author's Note:**

> this is an end note  
> id like to end with a thanks  
> thanks  
> that was two thanks  
> i hope you enjoyed them
> 
> Edit: ~~gosh thankyou for all the kudos aaargh~~  
>  ~~im not sure if i should continue this or not? would you like me to :?~~  
>  ~~and thanks again omigosh people woah~~  
>  haha sorry im probably not gonna continue this its so old now !! but im working on other stuff so  
> if you wanna  
> stay tunedd

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [ellipsis](https://archiveofourown.org/works/708065) by [oobiemcruby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oobiemcruby/pseuds/oobiemcruby)




End file.
